


Cherry Pie

by Brigadier_Blue



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Film: 1917, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, Love, Love Confessions, Nobody is Dead, Other, Sad and Happy, Tom Blake Lives, Tom is a Sweetheart, World War I, hes still gay in my heart tho, is this the only x reader tom fic here? maybe so, lets just pretend ok, ok so no major character death BUT, so why did I even write this, soft, sorry its not gay, tom deserves the world, we all know what happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigadier_Blue/pseuds/Brigadier_Blue
Summary: All the reasons you love Tom, and all the reasons he loves you.
Relationships: Thomas Blake/Reader, Tom Blake x Reader, Tom Blake x you, Tom Blake/Reader, Tom Blake/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Cherry Pie

What makes things beautiful? What part of us sees a flower or a sunset and thinks “pretty”? Is it just a universally agreed upon fact that some things are beautiful and others are not? Or does it differ slightly for every person, some believing beauty is measured in riches and jewels, while others believing the most magnificent thing in life is a newly budded leaf.

For you, it was Tom.

It was the way his hair curled when he didn’t put oil in it. The way he smiled whenever he caught you looking at him, the way his cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink when you teased him, the way his giggles turned into complete and uncontrolled laughter. Everything about the boy was enrapturing. You were head over heels for him, and he was so oblivious that he couldn’t even tell.

Tom Blake thought you were the prettiest girl he had ever met in his entire life. Everything you did made his heart flutter in his chest. The way you would greet him with a playful wink when you ran into him in town, or the way your voice sounded when you would read to him on restless summer afternoons. The way your eyes lit up when you spoke about traveling the world one day, and the way your small hand fit in his when you took evening walks together. 

Your favorite thing to do with Tom was helping his family pick cherries in their orchard during the summer. The orchard wasn’t very large, so it didn’t take too long when you all worked together, but Tom made it difficult to stay on task. The two of you would usually end up lying on the soft earth with your bodies covered in petals, mouths stained red with the juice of the cherries, and baskets empty. You had gotten very good at spitting out the pits, but Tom would always win the contests of who could shoot them farther. 

Sometimes after a long day in the orchard when you weren’t quite ready to go home, you and Tom would stay outside and watch the sunset, backs resting against the trunk of the largest cherry tree. When you were younger, you would both climb the spindly branches to get a better view, but now you were content to simply stretch your limbs out onto the pale green grass and lay your head on Tom’s shoulder, listening to birds whistling distantly from the tops of the orchard. On many nights, the sun would set completely and you would fall asleep against Tom, waking up to his gentle voice offering to let you spend the night at his place because he didn’t want you walking home in the dark, even though you only lived about a quarter mile from his small farm. Of course, you always said yes to the offer. Sharing a bed with Tom had never felt strange, you had known each other for far too long for it to be uncomfortable. The only thing about it that upset you was the fact that you couldn’t wrap yourself around him and kiss him goodnight. 

You would put on one of his old long sleeved shirts and crawl in next to him, complaining about how cold his feet were while he pouted and refused to put on socks. He would turn off the light beside the bed and shuffle around under the covers to get comfortable, causing you to whisper aggressively for him to quit fidgeting. He would then purposefully wiggle around even more, snorting out muffled laughter when you gently hit him with your pillow. When he had finally gotten comfortable, he would turn to you and smile, saying goodnight and pulling the sheets up closer around him before drifting off beside you, your shoulders almost touching. You always marveled at how quickly he could fall asleep. It usually took you a much longer time before your eyelids started to feel heavy and you felt your body sinking into the bed. On those nights, you would watch Tom sleeping, studying the way his chest rose and fell softly as his breathing slowed with sleep.

He was always so warm; you could practically feel his body heat radiating off of him from where you slept. On much colder nights during the winter months, you would shift closer to him in your sleep, immediately feeling cozy and safe against him, and wake up with one of your arms thrown over his chest and his face nuzzled into your neck. You would pretend to still be asleep so you could stay cuddled up with him for as long as possible before he would wake up and try to sneak your arm off of him so as not to wake you when he got out of bed. He would always tease you about it over breakfast, but he couldn’t hide the deep blush that would creep across his cheeks whenever he thought about waking up with your arms around him.

Mornings at Tom’s were always your favorite. As wonderful as it was to watch the sunset with him in his orchard, sunrises were the promise of another day, a beginning rather than an end, and you loved the way Tom’s voice sounded when he had just woken up. It was soft and raspy; a bit higher than usual. His entire demeanor changed in the early hours of the morning. You loved the boisterous, vibrant boy he was during the day, but you relished the moments when he was calm and sweet, snuggling into the blankets and smiling widely when you offered to bake muffins for breakfast.

Tom loved your cooking. Even when you made a mess of his mother’s kitchen or when you accidentally forgot to put eggs in the pancakes, he would eagerly fill his plate and sit beside you on the small wooden table, laughing at the flour that was brushed across your face and hands. His favorite thing you made were the cherry tarts and pies that crowded the table during summer when the fruit ripened. His mother always invited you over to help bake with her, and being the only woman in a house of boys, she loved having another girl around. Tom would sit at the table watching you measure out ingredients, smiling at the way your nose scrunched up in concentration, and the way you licked your fingers clean after you de-pitted the fruit.

Once the pies were finished, he would help you clean the kitchen, offering to wash the dishes while you dried them and wiped the counter-top clean. He secretly loved the simple domesticity of it all, and as boring as it usually was to do chores, he would always pitch in if you were there. His mother teased him when she noticed how he only did certain chores with you around, but he just blushed and made the excuse that it was impolite to allow a guest to do all the work, though you were hardly a guest at this point.

When all the desserts were ready and it came to cutting and distributing them, you would shake your head at Tom and take the knife away from him with a knowing grin. He loved your baking so much that he would always try to sneak himself a larger slice. So you always baked a separate pie just for him, decorating the crust with small cutouts of cherry blossoms, and you hid it until all the other pies had been either eaten or gifted to the neighbors. You would find Tom pouting in the kitchen, disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a piece before they had all been eaten, and sneak into the pantry where you had hid the small extra pie. You would grin mischievously and pull it out, watching his face light up as he jumped to get two forks so you could eat it together in the chairs on his front porch. You always let him eat more of it, feeling your heart swell in your chest at how much he loved your cooking. 

The first time Tom knew he was in love with you was when you came down with the flu one winter and were bedridden for a week. You had failed to stop by his house one Saturday like you always did, so he had walked to your small farm to check on you. Unaware that your mother and sister had gone into town for medicine and you were asleep in your room, he had knocked on your door and waited patiently outside. After a few minutes of standing on your porch in the freezing winter air, he had noticed that your light was on, so he made use of the key you had given him a few years back when you had both realized how unnecessary it was to even bother knocking given the amount of time the two of you spent together. He had tiptoed around your house until he found you asleep in your bed, wearing a thick woolen set of pajamas with your limbs tangled in three layers of quilts, and a bowl on the floor next to you in case you couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time. 

He hadn’t been able to stop staring at your rosy cheeks and mussed up hair, and the way your fingers curled tightly around the edge of the blanket. All he had wanted to do in that moment was to curl up next to you and hold you until you felt better, even if that meant himself getting sick also. But instead, he had taken a chair from the kitchen into your room so he could sit with you, and had flipped to a random page in the novel that rested on your nightstand, waiting for you to wake up. When you finally did, he had fussed over you and insisted on staying the night in case you needed anything, sleeping on a makeshift bed on your floor. He would have slept next to you, but you had refused every time he offered, not wanting to risk getting him sick.

When you had woken up in the middle of the night with your stomach threatening to reveal it’s contents, Tom had been startled awake by your clumsy attempt at getting past him on your way to the bathroom, and he had hurried after you to make sure you were alright. He held your hair away from your face and rubbed soothing circles on your back as you gagged into the toilet, whispering consolations in your ear and wishing he could take your pain away. He had realized right then that had it been anyone else in your position, he would never have had the same overwhelming concern and burning impulse to keep you safe. He had only struggled for a moment trying to pinpoint the reason behind such intense feelings before suddenly understanding. He was in love with you; he always had been and he always would be. He only wished he was brave enough to tell you.

When Britain entered the war in 1914 and Tom’s older brother Joe left to fight on the front-lines, you could tell how badly Tom wanted to follow. The only thing stopping him from volunteering without a second thought was his age. Tom was not yet 18 when the war began, and although you had seen the enlistment officers in town allowing boys you knew to be younger than that to join the fight, Tom looked his age and wouldn’t be able to pass as an adult like some of his schoolmates. You were secretly thankful that Tom wouldn’t be taken away from you, and although you felt selfish, you hoped that he wouldn’t sign up on his 18th birthday like he vowed to do the day Joe left. 

You spent the rest of the year trying to cheer Tom up and distract him from the war by letting him teach you how to drive and going swimming in the quarry near his farm. Everything was fitting together like a puzzle, the pieces of your life falling into place as you spent every day with Tom and fell more and more in love with the brown-haired boy. Before you knew it, two years had passed since the war began, and Joe had survived them both much to Tom and his mother’s relief. You loved to visit Tom during Joe’s leave, because he was always so much happier when his brother was around. He had grown more serious after Joe had left, and during the period that his older brother was gone you had seen him mature, helping his mother more and taking on extra responsibilities around the farm. You had practically moved in with the Blake’s by the summer of 1916, and you didn’t miss the whispered teasing between your mother and Tom’s about how good the two of you looked together. 

Tom had rushed to your house after he had received the letter, and you pretended to be happy for him in the beginning. You saw the look of pride on his face whenever he told someone that he was to fight in the war. You knew how much it meant to him to be able to follow in his brother’s footsteps. 

So you played along— albeit reluctantly. You didn’t want to risk revealing your feelings for him, and showing your emotions regarding his leaving would likely do just that. But the weeks of waiting for a train to come and take him away were torture, and after having spent a day with his mother making care packages for injured soldiers, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You had borrowed the Blake’s car and driven it to the quarry where you knew he often went when he needed to think. You weren’t surprised when you found him sitting on a rock by the water, skipping stones across the surface and watching them as they sunk. He had looked so beautiful in the soft light of the evening that you almost felt your heart break when you remembered that you might never see him again. You sat down next to him silently, picking up a stone from by your feet. He turned to you with a smile, and you held onto the small rock to ground yourself.

“Don’t leave, Tom,” you spoke, so soft that only he could hear you. You had no one to hide from, your only company being the faint outline of the moon and the freckle of stars across the horizon, yet you spoke as if the whole world watched.

“I have to,” he replied, taking your hands in his. You dropped the rock, letting it fall to the ground to be lost in the thousands of other stones littering the shore just as a single soldier dies and is lost among the thousands of other forgotten men that leave home to fight and never come back.

“No, you don’t. You could stay here, with me, and we could-” you weren’t able to stop the tears that spilled from your eyes as you faced him, watching his face glow as the sun was swallowed by the quarry and the light of day faded into a dim wash of blue and orange.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll come back to you, I promise,” his gaze was sad but hopeful as he held your hands tighter, and you watched as your world fell apart, pieces of the puzzle dislodging and blending together as your eyes swam with tears.

“You can’t promise that, Tom. No one can. All you can do is stay,” you pleaded, succumbing to the sobs that shook your body.

“Love, please don’t cry, I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t think I would make it back,” he held your face in his hands, frantically trying to quell your tears.

You shook your head, “Tom, I-” you broke off, years of longing finally pushing through the wall you had built around your heart and tumbling out past your lips, “I love you, Tom, I love you so much, so please, stay here for me. We can get married, and- and have our own little farm and grow our own cherry orchard. I’ll make as many pies as you want, all for you, and-”

Tom stopped you, his hands on your face gentle and warm as his fingers brushed away your tears. His eyes burned into yours, the intensity of his gaze overwhelming as you choked back your next sob.

“I love you too. Always have, always will. My leaving couldn’t change that in a million years, it just means you’ll have to wait for me, darling. All you have to do is wait, and I’ll come back as soon as this bloody war is over.” 

His smile was soft and reassuring and so full of love that you couldn’t help but melt against it, your thoughts becoming muddled as he looked at you as if you had hung the moon and the stars and the heavens all for him. And you may as well have. For when he leaned down and you finally felt his lips on yours, you swore you could have had the power to end the whole war and stop the fighting with a single kiss.


End file.
